


Saints Swimming in Their Sins

by bone_orchard



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Priests, Anal Sex, Blasphemy, Blood, Deception, Demon Katsuki Yuuri, Elements of Dubious Consent, Flogging, M/M, Masochism, Priest Victor Nikiforov, Self-Flagellation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 14:18:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14427225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bone_orchard/pseuds/bone_orchard
Summary: When Father Nikiforov prays, God whispers in his ears.





	Saints Swimming in Their Sins

**Author's Note:**

> For once, I’ve written a story that will remain a oneshot. 
> 
> You can find [ my tumblr here.](https://orchard-of-bones.tumblr.com/)

“…lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

Viktor kneels, head bowed, rosary warm against his fingertips, prayer on his lips and anticipation in his heart.

A breeze stirs the fine hairs at his nape.

The windows are closed.

“Amen.”

Viktor jolts in spite of himself at the cold touch on the back of his neck, an unnatural chill that spreads through his skin until his throat is encircled in a thin circle of biting, invisible frost.

“My Lord,” he gasps, screwing his eyes closed.

_Viktor._

His God – no, God, He is not Viktor’s, Viktor is His – has a voice that reverberates through Viktor’s soul, deep and dark as it echoes in places that defy human touch. Viktor shudders, curling in on himself, knuckles white around the rosary.

_So pious, my Viktor._

He’s not deserving of His praise, but Viktor can’t help but shiver at the words, guilty pleasure warming his breast, spreading down his body in soft, gentle waves. This, he knows, is what love feels like, if it could touch and hold and consume.

_Such a late hour. Did you lose yourself in prayer, my Viktor?_

Viktor nods, doesn’t open his eyes. The chill at his nape grows sharper, and he speaks.

“Yes, my Lord. I – I waited, my Lord, for your touch.”

_You grow greedy. Greed is a sin, my child._

“Forgive me, I – I can’t help but yearn for your exalted presence, my Lord, though I know I am unworthy.”

Unseen winds flirt with the edges of his cassock, lifting the tips of his hair, and caressing what little skin he has bared. Viktor shudders again, panting as the warmth in his body climbs and climbs into a swirling flame that lights his heart, his thoughts, his breath on fire.

 _I decide your worth, my Viktor._ A pause, almost amused, if so human an emotion can ever taint His presence. _Lust is as grave as sin as greed, Viktor._

Viktor cradles the rosary to his chest, lips bruising the beads as he begs forgiveness. He’s not worthy, he’s not, because he never learns, never changes, no matter how ardently he repents. He doesn’t deserve his God’s patience, his tender touch.

“Forgive me,” he whispers, low and despairing. “I – I will–”

_Repent, Viktor._

Viktor rises with baited breath, hesitantly opening his eyes. The room is empty save for himself, just like always, but the air is cold though it’s the height of summer. He doesn’t need to see Him to know that He is here. Viktor can feel it, deep inside.

He sheds his clothes with practiced efficiency, not hesitating as he strips off his shirt and undershirt. The pants remain, barely hiding the evidence of his guilt.

The flogger is within arm’s reach under his head, the wrapped handle firm and familiar in Viktor’s grip. He kneels again, sighing in relief when the cold air curls around his body in a fleeting embrace. Then, he waits.

_Begin._

The first is the worst.

Viktor muffles a scream, biting hard on his lips, blood welling under his teeth as tears blur his vision.

_Viktor. Give me your voice. Do not be ashamed. Your penitence is hallowed._

“Y-yes.”

The second pulls another shout from him, high and wordless, and a cool breeze flits across the heated, aching skin. Viktor hisses, but whips his arm with all his strength, the tails of the flogger tearing mercilessly into his flesh. Hot blood trails down his back, drenching his skin and soaking into the fabric of his pants. A few drip to the floor, seeping into the stones.

The walls echo with Viktor’s screams, the cold stones silent witness to his ecstatic pain.

Sweat stings the welts on his flesh, his breath burns his lungs, and his throat tastes of blood from his screams, but He isn’t satisfied. Viktor knows it in his bones and so he keeps going until his arms and back is a sea of searing, pulsing pain and his breath comes in wet sobs. Tears drip down his chin and blood pools under his body, and Viktor’s God watches.

_Viktor…_

He gasps breathlessly, his Lord’s name trapped in his throat. Cold air cups his face, vaguely in the shape of hands, their chill sinking into his skin without soothing the fire that burns in his veins.

_More, Viktor, more._

“C-can’t,” Viktor whimpers, throwing the flogger and screaming with a raw throat when a fresh patch of skin is torn to shreds. “ _My Lord!_ ”

_You’re close, Viktor. More._

He is calm as Viktor isn’t, and it grounds him even as he writhes in self-inflicted agony, heat throbbing in his body; in his heart, in his gut, in the flesh trapped between his legs.

_More!_

The tails bite into torn flesh, unbearable pain overcoming Viktor, whiting out his vision even as he screams in pleasure, wet heat spilling into his pants. The flogger falls from numb fingers, and Viktor falls to the ground in a pool of his own fluids. Blood laps at his skin, hotter even than the spreading stain on his groin.

Cold air envelops his body, sinking into his open wounds and sending fresh waves of overwhelming pain shuddering through his body. The chill only digs deeper, burrowing into flesh, into veins, into the very marrow of his bones, and deep into the essence of everything he is.

Viktor’s eyes roll back into his head and darkness falls over him like a veil.

 

* * *

 

He wakes in bed, naked and unharmed.

It’s habit to feel at the flesh of his back and shudder with an odd blend of relief and disappointment when he finds it whole and unmarred, free even of the blood that should have dried on it.

The first few times, Viktor thought that everything that happened was a dream, the product of a twisted, depraved mind.

He knows better now.

The flogger is evidence enough, its beige color rusty with darkened blood. He leans over and grabs it, bringing it to his face and taking a deep breath. The scent of stale copper assaults his senses, and Viktor clings to it with a desperation that might be unbecoming if someone were to see it.

But he’s alone in his room, even His presence has vanished.

“You know,” says a voice both familiar and not, “you’re so damnably predictable. I don’t know why I find you so captivating.”

Viktor is out of his bed in an instant, though he regrets it the next moment when he realizes he is utterly naked and defenseless before…before what?

At one corner of his room, where the darkness in deepest, the shadows stir. Viktor watches, wide-eyed, as they coalesce into the shape of a man, his features hidden in tendrils of darkness that shift and twist unnaturally.

“Who are you?” Viktor asks, forcing his voice into the steady composure he employs when he addresses his congregation.

“Why, my Viktor,” the figure drawls. “You know me.”

The way they address Viktor and the odd familiarity of his voice strike him at the same time, a realization that leaves him stunned.

The figure steps out of the shadows, and Viktor’s breath freezes in his lungs.

He’s beautiful; dark hair swept back over a face that’s all sharp angles, lush lips that are curved in a smirk tinged with cruelty. But it’s the eyes, red and gleaming with malice, that send terror coursing through his veins.

Every instinct he possesses screams only one thing – this is no human.

“Are you happy, Viktor,” he purrs, “to meet your God?”

Viktor stumbles back as the creature advances, except his legs lock in place despite his attempts to just _move_ , and he can do naught but stand and stare in horrified disbelief as the man – thing – stalks to him with long, leisurely strides.

He stops less than a foot before Viktor, and it’s startling to see he’s shorter than Viktor, not that it matters when he looms in a way that is as terror-inducing as the rest of him.

Viktor’s lips waver and tremble into prayers that have spilled from them a million times before.

The creature just smiles wider, too-sharp teeth flashing.

“Do you truly believe they will banish me when you have worshipped me with them for the last few years?”

Viktor stutters to a stop, the denial vehement as it flies from his mouth.

“You are no God!”

“No,” he agrees, the slant of his mouth savagely amused. “I am _your_ God. I am what you prayed to, I am what touched you, I am what you bled for. I am what fed on your lust and your faith. I am what cleansed your flesh and crept into your soul. To you, Viktor Nikiforov, I am God.”

Everything in Viktor violently rebels at the thought, but the hands that touch his face and the chill that seeps into his skin leave him weak in the knees and helplessly complacent.

“You know me,” the creature murmurs. “Your body knows me.”

“What are you?” Viktor asks, desperate even as that piercingly cold touch slides down his neck in a grotesque caress.

“God, Devil, it depends. To you, I am everything.”

“I never–”

“Don’t fool yourself,” he snaps, the sudden irritation hitting Viktor deeper and sharper than any whip. “You did not debase yourself at night, guiltily ensconced in your room, because you thought you were giving yourself over to some divine power, _Father_.”

“I–”

“You were the purest soul I’d touched, Viktor, and now it gleams black like true night. And to think,” he leans closer, hands like marble on Viktor’s chest, one over the thunderous beating of his heart, “I only had to fool you those first two months. You fooled yourself quite well after that.”

“Please,” Viktor begs, a plea for him to stop the torrent of words that strike him like poisoned arrows.

“I am your everything,” is the response he gets. “But you may call me Yuuri.”

 _Yuuri_ , something inside Viktor murmurs with quiet reverence. He ignores that voice, knowing it’s the same one that whispered mocking admonitions into his ears each time he tore himself apart at the behest of the presence whispering into his ear – his God.

“Yes,” the being called Yuuri says gently. “Your God.”

“Not you,” Viktor denies weakly, making another unsuccessful attempt to flee his clutches. “I’m faithful.”

“Oh, yes. Very,” Yuuri agrees, laughter lightening his voice. “That’s why you’re my favorite, Viktor.”

And then he kisses him.

Viktor took a vow of celibacy when he was young and kept to it with an alacrity that earned him both admiration and disdain from his peers. He was never tempted to break it, not until his nightly prayers became blessed – plagued – with whispers that brushed forbidden sensation along his skin and bid him repent in a voice that sent him spiraling deeper into sin.

Had he truly known, all this time?

“Yes,” Yuuri answers, breaking the kiss. His lips glisten wetly. A cold palm presses to Viktor’s chest, sharp nails digging in. “In here, you knew. But it’s alright, Viktor. I’m here now. I have you.”

“Why?” Viktor asks, dazed, distracted by the pinpricks of heat spreading flaring out from everywhere Yuuri is touching him. He seemed clothed in nebulous shadows before but now, Viktor finds him as naked as himself, and the sight sends heat rushing to his face and–

“I am a jealous God,” Yuuri tells him, smiling that implacable smile. “And I am no longer content to let you carry on thinking you were blessed by anyone but me. When you worship me again, it will be me you see, my name you scream.”

It’s a thin line between horror and arousal, Viktor realizes when he stirs to life between his legs.

Yuuri laughs, the sound high and clear as it burrows into Viktor’s soul like the dark, heady whisperings of his God, and pushes him, deceptively gentle but for the way it sends Viktor sprawling on the mattress. Yuuri is on him the next moment, pinning Viktor down with little effort.

“I love the way you surrender,” Yuuri whispers like a confession, red eyes bright with possessive fervor. His hands slide down Viktor’s body, a blazing trail of pleasure left in their wake.

Viktor squirms, his cock hard and leaking where it’s trapped between them, but doesn’t try to get away, not even when Yuuri’s own length brushes against him, hard and hot and tantalizing.

“Yes,” Yuuri hisses. “Just like this. You’re not even fighting, oh, my Viktor.”

“Not yours,” Viktor gasps, but it’s a weak protest, his voice the same as when he called Yuuri his Lord and begged forgiveness.

“I am your Lord,” Yuuri says, grinning through a mouth full of teeth. “And I will give you so much more than forgiveness.”

Viktor only has a second to mourn the loss of Yuuri’s exquisite chill before he’s gone, not far, just between Viktor’s legs which are caught and pulled apart with surprising strength, leaving him obscenely open for the cock that presses into him, the passage made smooth and slick but not painless by powers beyond his grasp. He doesn’t have the breath to scream, can only whimper through the maddening pleasure-pain spearing him open. He’s too full too soon, stuffed to the brim in a way he never thought possible but _is_ , because he’s taking it without being torn in two and Yuuri’s big but he’s all inside Viktor and he _can’t_ –

Yuuri shifts, pulls out, and thrusts, and strikes something that makes starts burst behind Viktor’s lids. He does it again and again, and it’s the tails of the flogger eating into his skin but better and so, so _worse_ because there’s no escape, no pause, just the fast, rough strokes of burning flesh that breaks Viktor apart to the basest sensations.

He shatters in a flash of heat, clenching around Yuuri with a scream that turns into raw, muffled sobs when Yuuri keeps going and going and _going_ –

There’s a rasping whisper of Viktor’s name, teeth sinking into his thigh, and liquid fire filling him up.

Yuuri doesn’t pull out, only moves to lay himself atop Viktor, proprietary from the look in his eyes to the grasping curl of his hands.

“Mine,” he breathes, the cool air tickling Viktor’s throat. “All mine.”

Viktor gazes blankly at the top of Yuuri’s head, lost in the wet warmth inside him and the eerie chill blanketing his skin.

“Yours,” he agrees in the end, that snide, honest voice he tried to bury finally spilling from his lips. “My Lord.”

Yuuri’s smile is knife-sharp and the kiss he presses to Viktor’s mouth draws blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment, if you’re willing. I enjoy them.


End file.
